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Clone Club nights have become a two-fold affair. The first part of the night is some combination of Sarah, Felix, Alison, Donnie, occasionally Tony, and me. Sometimes Donnie stays home with the kids and Alison crashes with us. Sometimes Oscar and Gemma go to Donnie’s mom’s and D-man sits awkwardly on Felix’s couch and pretends he doesn’t have a problem watching Ali drink with us. Sometimes Tony shows up unannounced and we hang out together. Sometimes Tony shows up unannounced and we relocate to Mrs. S’s house – well, Sarah’s house. And mine. I guess. And we chill out there and let Kira stay up past her bedtime while Tony and Felix do whatever it is that they’re doing that none of us talk about. Sometimes Alison is a no-show and sometimes Felix has a customer and most times Cal drops in to say hi and watch Kira so Sarah and I can relax.
And then there’s the part of the night where it’s just Sarah and me. Felix has a date (or Tony). Alison has an early soccer game to drive the kids to or has passed out on the couch, or whatever else. However it occurs, the night always seems to end with a dwindling bottle of whiskey and Sarah’s arm around my shoulders. Like right now. Tonight, Alison left early and the boys are dead to the world, an adorable tangle of limbs on Felix’s bed that Sarah is pointedly trying to ignore. I can tell. She drinks differently, in bigger gulps, when she’s uncomfortable.
“Hey Sar?” I keep my voice low, because it’s creeping on 3 a.m. and that’s late even for us.
She tilts her head and hums, gulping more whiskey. Her hand brushes my arm casually, like she does it all the time. She does. For a tough-as-nail-guns punk princess, Sarah Manning is ridiculously affectionate.
“You okay?” Even tone. Leave it open to interpretation. I could be asking about anything. Don’t lead with your inflection.
Sarah laughs. Barks, really. Another tell.
“Yeah, I’m good. Why do you ask?” She leans forward, letting her arm slide off me so the glass she’s been nursing for the past half hour is held with both hands. Elbows on her thighs. Head turned so her hair is a dark curtain highlighting her face, like reverse backlighting.
I curl up on the couch, crossing my legs meditation-style, leaning forward to put my empty wine glass on the table. I hesitate, fingers lingering in the air.
“The boys,” I say, still leaning, mirroring her, with a significant glance behind us.
Her face gives nothing away. Sarah can be stone. She’s actually really good at it. The problem is that, when you really know her, you come to understand that Sarah always gives something away.
“What about them?” She drains her glass, reaches for the bottle, pours liberally, takes a sip and offers me some.
Normally, I refuse. Normally, I stick to wine and weed, but joints still make me wheeze and Tony wasn’t able to procure brownies this trip. Tonight, I take the glass, watching Sarah carefully as our fingers brush. Stone.
“Does it bother you?” Boom. Straight to the point. Well, not straight, but you know.
Sarah doesn’t answer right away and her face is expressive again. She glances over at them, too, and looks to me with a sigh.
“Kind of, yeah,” she grimaces, and I know she’s uncomfortable with being uncomfortable before she says so. “How am I supposed to feel? Tony’s our brother. Felix is my brother.” She waves a hand, “I mean, he’s everybody’s brother now, truly, especially Alison’s, but he was mine first. My brothers. Our brothers. I dunno.” She looks down at the glass of whiskey as I hand it back to her. Knocks it back, harshly, and reaches for more.
I take another sip when she offers. Let the silence stretch. Warmth trickles down my throat and into my chest and my fingers and my toes.
“Like, I can’t decide if I actually have a problem with them, or if I have a problem with not having a problem with them. Does that make sense?” Sarah looks to me again, confused and kind of disgusted with herself and I’m almost sorry I asked.
I nod vigorously, “Totally. Makes perfect sense. Felix is our brother, so Felix and Tony… it’s kind of incestuous and kind of not.” I roll my shoulders, feeling the wine and whiskey dance in my stomach and a rant bubbling up my throat. “The taboo against incest doesn’t really apply, though, if you think about it. Tony may be one of us, but honestly I think the only not-okay combo,” I let my fingers twirl, trying to keep from speeding up my speech to the point of incomprehensibility, “would be you and Felix. Or you and Helena, because you’re twins, even though you were raised apart that would still be kinda…. Something.”
We both grimace at that thought, but mine fades faster than Sarah’s. She looks thoughtful.
“The only not-okay combo?” She asks, eyes on the whiskey and not on me.
“Yeah, because you two grew up together. You actually have that sibling bond that most people form as children. The rest of us,” I shrug, knotting my fingers together in my lap. Look for the wine bottle and find it empty, like my glass. Damn. The kitchen feels really far away.
We’re quiet for a while, sharing the whiskey. I think back, think about things I shouldn’t know that are never talked about. Think about something I never thought about before.
“What if Beth was gay?” The thought is out before I can stop it. “Or bisexual,” I amend, knowing it to be more accurate anyway. Might as well be accurate if I’m going to ask.
Sarah chokes for a moment on her latest sip.
“What?” Her eyes are wide and wild. She’s totally thought about this before. Isn’t that interesting.
Right here, there’s a moment where I could laugh it off, change the subject, wave my hands around and distract, but I don’t.
“What if Beth had a girlfriend. What if ‘Paul’ was some super-hot, buff ex-military woman instead of a man.” I really want to know. Like a lot. This is probably not a good idea. “Would you still have impersonated her?”
Sarah blinks at me. Looks at the whiskey in her glass. Knocks it back and reaches for more. Curses because the bottle’s empty. Stands and grabs the wine bottle, too, and takes her time in the kitchen retrieving full bottles of both. Sits and fills her glass and mine.
“Well?” I push, eyebrows high as I take the wine glass from her hand.
Stone face. Damn.
“I’m straight,” Sarah says, gulping her whiskey.
“That wasn’t the question, Sar,” I smile and try not to laugh at her clear avoidance.
She leans back, glass in hand, and closes her eyes. Rests her head back against the couch and sighs. Keeps her eyes closed and says, “Yeah. The money would have been motivation enough, and then, you know, the necessity of me being her. It still would have been necessary.” Hiding behind clone drama. Interesting.
In for a penny, in for a pound, so, “But would you have slept with hot, girl-Paul?”
“Shit, Cos, I dunno. Probably. To keep up appearances. To shut her up. If she had the same personality as Paul, then it still would have worked, so….” Sarah glares at me, not exactly angry but not thrilled with my line of questioning either. “I’m straight, geek monkey.”
“I know,” I say, but I’m thinking about how even though Sarah has pinched her lips into a tight line, they still look super soft and kissable. I glance at the wine on the table and the glass in my hand. When did I drink it? I don’t remember drinking it. Oops. Time for more.
Sarah’s still muttering under her breath and I can’t help but think she’s protesting pretty strongly and there’s typically a reason for that.
“That’s part of your thing with Tony and Felix. You’re straight, but our brothers are not. And one of our brothers is us. So what does that say about you? What does that say about your relationship with Felix?” I’m speaking softly, trying to keep my tone even like before, but it’s harder now with the whiskey and more wine and Sarah’s lips look really, really soft. Fuck.
Sarah exhales, rubs the bridge of her nose, and drinks more whiskey. Eventually she nods, knowing I’m watching for it, and keeps staring off into the middle-distance instead of looking at me.
“Do I bother you?” Foot-in-mouth disease is real. I promise.
Now Sarah’s looking at me, half annoyed and half confused, which is fucking adorable.
“Of course not, Cosima.”
I break eye contact, leaning forward again to get more wine. Sarah’s hand on my arm stops me.
“I’m serious, monkey. Shite, I’m not homophobic. Seeing Felix with Tony is a mindfuck because they’re both my brothers, not because they’re both guys.” She’s so earnest, like the thought of me thinking she thought anything less of me for being bi would just kill her. It’s really sweet.
I smile, reaching for the wine again, “I know that. It just seemed like the next logical question.” Am I blushing? I think I’m blushing. Why am I blushing? Because Sarah is sweet and protective and so loving and her lips look so soft.
“Good,” she says with a decisive nod, leaning back and taking a normal sip from her glass.
I turn back to the wine to hide my smile. Relaxed Sarah is my favorite Sarah.
“Have you ever played gay for a job? Like, for a mark?” I should learn to leave well enough alone. One of these days, but apparently not tonight. Or this morning, or whatever.
Sarah sputters, choking again on her whiskey, and I’m right there, against her side, hitting her back, trying to help, until I’m not. Until Sarah turns and knocks my arm away, tears of indeterminate cause in her eyes, and pins me down on the couch.
My sweater has ridden up and Sarah’s shirt didn’t really cover her stomach to begin with; we’re skin to skin and part of me half-expected electricity, but it’s not like that. It’s gentler, like a breeze instead of a gust, or a stream instead of a flood, calm and familiar and easy. Getting under Sarah’s skin is easy. Being close with Sarah, physically and emotionally, is easy. It comes naturally.
“Could you please chill with the existential questions? It’s practically dawn, we’re still drinking, and,” Sarah breathes raggedly, her eyes going wide, and she draws back, turning away and grabbing her glass again. It’s empty, but she doesn’t refill it.
“Sorry,” I curl into her side, counting in my head until twelve, until Sarah sighs and turns back to me and pulls me into her arms.
“Silly monkey,” she murmurs, kissing my forehead.
My arms find their way around her, too, and after a few more minutes of Sarah calming down we end up cuddled together under a blanket. Sarah relaxes under me and I rest my head under her chin. I’ve gained back some weight, but I’m still lighter, and Sarah says she doesn’t mind sleeping with me on top of her. Part of me wants to push again, to trace my hand down her arm or up her side, or just lean up and kiss her, but the alcohol has made me sleepy and I don’t want to make her mad. She is a lion. Better to leave it, for now.